


All Those Who Are Brave Enough to Dare

by Tilion



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Thieves, F/M, Heist, M/M, Ocean's Eleven AU, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilion/pseuds/Tilion
Summary: Rhysand Night, criminal mastermind fresh out of prison, has set his sights on the Spring Court, a high-end Vegas casino run by Tamlin Primavera. Intent on robbing it dry, he puts together a team ....... and this has nothing to do with Tamlin's fiancee, Feyre Archeron. Absolutely nothing, Cassian, so shut up.(You don't have to have seen Ocean's Eleven.)
Relationships: Azriel & Cassian & Rhysand (ACoTaR), Azriel/Cassian (ACoTaR), Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, mentioned Feyre Archeron/Tamlin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	1. I Can't Be The Only One Who Thinks Azriel Would Look Hot In A Dealer's Outfit

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely follows the plot of Ocean's Eleven, with some alterations. If you've seen it, here's a list of who's who:  
> Rhys: Danny (ringleader/mastermind)  
> Cassian: Rusty (right-hand man)  
> Azriel: Frank/Livingston (card dealer/tech specialist)  
> Mor: Saul (undercover actress bc fuck yeah, also it's technically her (plus Rhys) who funds the whole thing so I guess she's Reuben as well?)  
> Nesta: Basher (munitions)  
> Elain: Linus (pickpocket) bc she's baby  
> Amren: Yen (acrobat) bc she smol  
> oh, and Tamlin = Terry and Feyre = Tess, to some degree.
> 
> Title is from Amarantha's riddle in ACOTAR. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having just gotten out of prison, Rhysand Night searches for one old accomplice-slash-best-friend-slash-adopted-brother to recruit for a new heist (read: Cassian) and finds another (read: Az).

It's not his _favorite_ casino. But for his first night out after four years in prison—minimum security but no less miserable for it—Rhys honestly doesn't give a shit so long as there's a raging fire and a comfy chair. And alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol.

He scans the room, and his polished black shoes pad across the carpeted floor. It's a familiar sensation. Homey, almost. Like the way it felt to pull on his finely-tailored suit again, to slip on his rich violet tie.

Muscle memory. Nostalgia.

Rhys pulls out a handful of crisp bills. Chips. He glances around. Picks a table. Scans the room for a familiar face, but is met with a blur of strangers. 

He turns back to the blackjack table.

He's winning.

(Again. And again.)

And then another dealer slides in to replace the first. Rhys doesn't look up at first, but when he does, a catlike smile slides over his face.

"Hey, Az," he says.

The dealer raises a perfect dark brow, his fine-boned features utterly neutral. "I'm afraid you must have mistaken me for somebody else," says Azriel, both of them perfectly aware that he hasn't, and taps his nametag.

Undercover life. Rhys is very used to it.

"Right," he says, with his most charming grin, "sorry." But master of masks as he is, he can't hide, or doesn't bother to hide, the warmth in his eyes. It wasn't Azriel he was looking for, not yet, but it's good to see him. 

Yeah, he thinks as he collects his chips—doubled—and stands, giving Azriel a flicker of a look from beneath his dark lashes. It's good to see him.

The lounge is one of their old spots, nice and empty, practically no one there. Rhys stirs absentmindedly at his drink as he studies the newspaper in front of him. It holds more than one familiar face.

The first is the tanned, blond, long-haired smiling face of Tamlin Primavera, dressed to the nines in a pressed forest green tux, beneath the bolded headline proclaiming his new ownership of a very familiar sounding Vegas casino.

The second is also blond, but that's about where the similarities end. She's got an irritated scowl on her face that's the opposite of her usual cheery grin, arms crossed over her tight red dress. The owner of said casino—former owner, as of right about now, apparently—and also, Rhys's cousin.

Mor.

"I see you've heard the news," says a dry, low voice, and he glances up. Azriel is already in the seat across from him. He's changed, now in a navy-dark button-up with his hair slicked back.

"Read it, more like," says Rhys. 

"Fresh out of prison and already making quips," says Azriel, reaching across to steal his drink. "I should have known some things never change."

"Speaking of," says Rhys, snatching the glass back with a raised brow, "I'm a little offended you didn't come pick me up."

"Sorry." Azriel shrugs, unrepentant. "Duty calls."

"So dealing's more important than your best friend?" Rhys teases.

"Cassian is my best friend," Azriel deadpans. 

He places a hand over his heart with a look of fake offense. "Ouch."

"And I'll have you know that I was at my _other_ job, overseeing a very important surveillance project for the damned FBI, two hours ago, anyway."

"Two hours ago? Shouldn't have put it past you to know _exactly_ when I got out. Stalker."

"You know me," says Azriel lightly, which he does, better than anyone except maybe Cassian. 

Speaking of. "Seen our brother dear?" he adds, with more lightness to his tone than belies his eagerness, and Azriel ... he doesn't stiffen, not exactly, his tells aren't so obvious as that, but he does go a little still. 

Interesting.

A falling out, Rhys muses to himself—has something gone down between Azriel and Cass? Or is it the wording he used? He files away the reaction somewhere he can analyze it later, and knows Azriel is doing the same to him.

"He's in L.A.," says Azriel at last, and his dark eyes don't leave Rhys's. 

"What for? I don't think he'd make much of a Hollywood star."

A ghost of a smile, the most he's coaxed out of Az tonight so far. "No, I doubt he would," he says. "He's taken it upon himself to teach celebrities cards."

"I'm surprised he has the patience," Rhys tries, with a grin, but Azriel doesn't smile again, just surveys him with practiced cunning. 

"Hmm," he says. "I don't suppose there's any reason why you're asking me?"

Rhys puts on his most innocent face, which he knows doesn't fool Az for a second. "What, I can't ask after my best friend?"

"I'm your best friend."

"I thought you were Cass's."

"Let me rephrase," says Azriel. " _I_ am _your_ best friend. _Cassian_ is _my_ best friend."

"You're all so mean to me," Rhysand absolutely does _not_ whine. "I don't know why I like you."

"You can't help it," Azriel answers smoothly, and then fixes him with that stare again. Goddamnit, he's not getting out of this. "You're planning another job, Rhys."

Rhys raises his brows again. "I've been a free man for _two hour_ s," he says dryly, which, of course, is neither a confession nor a denial.

It wasn't a question, anyway.

Azriel looks at him sideways, and he can't suppress the grin that tugs up the corner of his mouth. If Azriel were any less dignified, he would probably be throwing his head back and groaning. 

"I take it nothing digital," says Azriel. 

Rhys groans and rubs at his eyes. "Hell no. Not my style." Everything's getting far too digital these days for his comfort anyway. There's nothing like a good material heist to really get his blood going, and the chances of those slip away faster than coin at a casino.

The house always wins, and all that. 

"What, then?" says Azriel, resting his chin on one hand. They've both finished their drinks by now, and have nothing more to do than scrutinize each other, wary and fond at the same time. "A cash dealing, I assume."

"Yup."

"Not a bank, then." Too "digital," as he'd put it. "Which leaves ..." A shadow crosses his face, almost too quick for Rhys to notice. "Oh. _Rhys_."

"Yup," he says, popping the 'p'.

"Casinos, _really_?" The mingled incredulity and affection in his voice seeps out—he's clearly not endeavoring to hide it, which makes Rhys smile a little. Four years in prison, but nothing's changed between them. 

"Yup." He pops the 'p' again.

"And presumably you didn't come here _just_ to look for Cassian."

"Presumably not," he agrees.

Azriel sighs, but it's not a defeated sound. It's just a sound. Just the slide of air between his lips. He's known Azriel long enough to now what it means. 

"So, you're in, then?" he says, but he's not really asking.

He catches Rhys's eye, and they share a look, a smile on Rhys's end and a shadow of one on Azriel's. "Of course."

One down, he thinks, absentmindedly, we'll-see-how-many-more to go.


	2. Just Picture All The High Lords Playing Poker Badly, Okay? Just Picture It.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys recruits Cassian and wins a game of poker. Also, what the hell is up between Cassian and Azriel, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to my partner arien-earendil. they didn't beta this or anything, I'm just giving them a shout out because I love them

He finds Cassian in L.A. Back room of a fancy Hollywood club, just like Azriel said. Of course. Azriel knows all, and all that. Never doubt Azriel. That should be his mantra. 

Does he have a mantra? He should have a mantra. 

Cass has just walked back into the room, holding another bourbon, and he looks like he needs it. Rhys doesn't recognize any of the people around the table, except maybe from a movie poster here or there, but he can tell from the look in Cassian's eye that they sure as fuck aren't good at poker. 

Cassian, meanwhile, is busy pretending he doesn't know Rhys. Rhys grins. 

"Sorry to intrude," he says from his newly taken spot. 

"Don't worry about it," says the guy to his left, whose name he has maybe, possibly forgotten. Callum or Cal or something. Kallias?

Cassian just makes a vague gesture with one hand and sits to deal out the next round. 

"So, Mr. Night," says the girl perched on Kallias's lap. "What do you do?"

He offers a smile. "In general, or for a living?"

"The latter."

"Oh," he answers, carelessly, "I just got out of prison."

There is a slightly awkward pause. Cassian clears his throat and says, "Tarquin, you're bleeding."

The youngest-looking of the bunch quickly hides his cards, but his eyes don't leave Rhys. "So, why'd you ... go to prison?" he asks, probably because they're all thinking it and he might as well get it out.

"I stole a thing," he says, because let it never be said that Rhysand Night is not an eloquent creature.

"What was it?"

He shrugs. "Hybernian ceremonial cauldron."

Which is clearly not what anyone was expecting, from the looks on their faces. Picturing cold hard cash, probably, or diamonds. Jewels. Not that he's averse to that, but. Not that he'd go to fucking prison over it either.

"What from?" pipes up the girl on Kallias's lap. 

"What?" he says.

"Vivienne," Kallias warns, but she brushes him off. 

"What did you steal it from?"

Oh. "Gallery," he answers, simply, and doesn't go into details. 

Cassian finishes dealing. They stop talking about cauldrons and prison cells, and start pushing in chips. 

It goes fast. He puts in a couple hundred, then a couple more. Offers his readings of the table's respective faces. Cassian thinks he's bluffing. He's not.

He collects his winnings, offers a sliver of apology in the form of a sideways glance for thoroughly ruining the room's estimation of Cassian, and slips away.

Next thing he knows, he's in the passenger seat of Cassian's car, smirk affixed firmly in place but maybe a _little_ bit more genuine than usual. "Okay, so, fuck you," says Cassian, which is a warm welcome, but honestly better than he'd expected.

"What can I say?" he says, with a little twitch of his brow. 

Cassian jerks the wheel, but not hard, so Rhys can tell he's not really mad at him. Never is, not really, not in a way that changes anything.

"Oh, also," says Rhys, and fishes the night's earnings from the pockets of his black slacks. Ten grand. He flicks roughly half off the top and offers it to Cassian. "For you."

"Like that makes everything better," says Cassian with an eyeroll, but he takes the money anyway, the flash bastard.

"Doesn't it?"

"Maybe a little. But you just ruined my reputation as a poker pro, so you're gonna have to try a little harder than that."

"What reputation?" says Rhys, and Cassian fixes him with a glare. "Eyes on the road."

"Damn better sight than your ugly mug," Cassian scoffs, and then they're sharing a laugh, their first in four years. Feels like more, he thinks as the sound fades, but their smiles don't. He's missed this—missed Cass, their easy banter. Would be better with Azriel, but he's not blind enough to miss that something's up between them and besides, apparently these days he's second to the FBI in Az's books.

Ouch.

"So," says Cassian, after a comfortable pause, "whatcha got this time?"

Rhys allows himself a predator's grin, the kind Mor rolls her eyes at. "High risk, high reward."

"So it's like that."

"Uh-huh."

"Target?"

"Big," he answers, and turns slightly, so he's looking out the window. So the blur of cars and light flicker over his eyes, and he can feel the sweet-sharp graze of Cassian's attention but not see it. "Lots of security, and it'll take good planning. A good crew."

"The target, though," Cassian persists, because what else does he do?

Rhys tilts his head. "Fancy a vacation to Vegas?" he says.

The corner of Cassian's mouth twitches, then twists in to a matching grin. "Casinos, Rhysie, _really_?"

"Yeah, Azriel said the same thing," he says, casually, and watches him. 

But there's nothing to be read on his face but mild mock offense. "You went to Azriel before me?" Cassian shakes his head with a sniffle. "I thought we were friends."

"To be fair, I was looking for you. Just happened to run across him."

"He's supposed to be the one who's hard to find."

"Tough luck," says Rhys. "Anyway, he's still my favorite."

"Liar. You love me."

"Never catch me saying it." Which, he supposes, makes him duly worthy of Cassian's bestowed title of _liar,_ not that he wasn't well worthy of it already. 

"So where _is_ Az?" asks Cassian.

"Probably already in your apartment by now."

"Oh, fuck him."

"You wish," says Rhys lightly, and doesn't miss how Cassian's fingers do an interesting little twitchy movement against the wheel. Huh. Jackpot? "Drive us there and I'll show you the blueprints?"

"Sure thing." Cassian pauses, then adds, "So, I know you're already bloody bum-fuck loaded, but _casinos_ , man. This is gonna need some serious backing. We involving Mor?" 

"Of course," Rhys answers smoothly.

"You sure she'll be on board?"

"She will be."

Cassian twists his mouth in the way he knows is his version of raising his brows, the way that means _oh, yeah?_

"The casino we're robbing," says Rhys, "is the Spring Court."

"No shit."

"Yes shit."

"Tamlin Primavera's Spring Court?"

"Didn't think there was another," Rhys shoots back delicately.

Cassian glances at him, and he brushes a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. It's a familiar gesture, one he knows means cockiness, and a certain degree of excitement that Cassian is trying to hide, but can't. Not from Rhys. "Hell yeah she's gonna be on board, then," he says.

"Isn't that what I just said?" Rhys replies, and dodges the half-assed blow Cassian throws in his direction. Someone honks at them; Cassian, despite the pervading dark (and the tinted windows) flips them off and turns the corner. 

A pause. Rhys doesn't think he's gonna say it, until—

"How's Feyre?" asks Cassian.

He doesn't answer. Stares out the window, eyes narrowed, and keeps his mouth shut. 

Cass knows when to take a hint. Doesn't press, but doesn't apologize, either, just keeps his eyes on the road. 

"I wonder what Mor will say," he adds, reflectively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates on Tuesdays for now ig

**Author's Note:**

> watched ocean's eleven and couldn't stop thinking about this AU, so here we are! I haven't read ACOTAR in literal ages so I apologize for my inevitable butchering of their characterizations :-)  
> Comment and Rhys will blow you a kiss


End file.
